Delia,
you must show Mr. Robinson the garden by moonlight--it's the only
light he hasn't seen it by.
DEVENISH (quickly). I don't think I've ever seen it by moonlight,
Miss Delia.
BELINDA. I thought poets were always seeing things by moonlight.
BAXTER. I was hoping, Mrs. Tremayne, that--er--perhaps--
DELIA. Come along, Mr. Robinson.
(TREMAYNE _looks at BELINDA, who gives him a nod.)
TREMAYNE. It's very kind of you, Miss Robinson. I suppose there is
no chance of a nightingale?
BELINDA. There ought to be. I ordered one specially for Mr.
Devenish. (DELIA and TREMAYNE go out together. BELINDA settles
herself comfortably on the sofa.) Now we're together again. Well,
Mr. Devenish?
DEVENISH. Er--I--
BELINDA. No; I think I'll let Mr. Baxter speak first. I know he's
longing to.
BAXTER. Yes. H'r'm! Mrs. Tremayne, I beg formally to claim your
hand.
BELINDA (sweetly). On what grounds, Mr. Baxter?
DEVENISH (spiritedly). Yes, sir, on what grounds?
BAXTER. On the grounds that, as I told you this morning, I had
succeeded in the quest.
DEVENISH (appearing to be greatly surprised). Succeeded?
BAXTER. Yes, Mr. Devenish, young fellow, you have lost. I have
discovered the missing Mr. Robinson.
DEVENISH. Who--where--
BAXTER (dramatically). Miss Robinson has at this moment gone out
with her father.
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